


Planter's Punch

by Dryad



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: A party, with rum and fruit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_West](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_West/gifts).



> Merry Yule, Mary_West!

Thing was, Peter was no fool. 

Eton and Cambridge, of course, made sure of that, while Mummy and Daddy and the rest of the family, landed English gentry with close ties to the Royal family on both sides of the Channel made sure of the rest

But Peter, though English born and bred, was also half French, and so despite one parent's decision to remain in England, Peter had also been raised with a Frenchman's disdain for all things English.

It was an interesting dichotomy, with an unexpected result: Peter discovered he had a talent for obfuscation, a singular eye for detail, and a very good ability to suss out what someone might want from him.

The problem, however, was that he didn't work for British Rail, or the Post Office, or as a Professor in some university. No, he worked for Section Six, and as such worked with those who were much better at it all than himself.

After Africa, where things went horribly awry, Peter returned to London, to Smiley and the Circus and smiled at the cutting remarks, the sidelong glances, the unspoken suggestions that he was a carrier of bad luck. The Mothers ameliorated the atmosphere to a degree, but they could do little more than make their appreciation for his work known in the most minor of ways. See now, there was always coffee, freshly made for him, or tea, without his having to ask, unlike most of the other members of the Circus. The information for his division - and while he hated Smiley's own little nickname for the Scalphunters, because 'cosh and carry' was seedy, he had to admit it was pretty apropos - was often as new as possible, and he could always be assured one of the Mothers had an ear closer to the ground for him. Of course, maybe that was because of the tragedy of Operation Testify and how many agents had been hung and shot and tortured to death as a result.

Thus, when he returned to London and the Circus, before Smiley and Control were so unceremoniously dumped for their supposed involvement with Testify - and Peter knew absolutely they had done nothing, _nothing_ \- he watched everyone and everything and gradually began to see what others could not hide despite their best efforts.

Haydon and Prideaux, now, there was a fine example. At first, Peter had been as dazzled as everyone else by their easy comraderie, their little jokes, the intensity with which they ran London Station and the Scalphunters, respectively. Yet as time had passed, it became clear they were close...very close. Which surprised Peter. Or rather, the blind eye turned their way by everyone else was the surprise. Yes, Haydon flirted with anything that had a pulse, and certainly got in amongst the secretaries when the Mothers merely but glanced away for a moment, and though Prideaux was polite enough to the ladies, he made no overtures to them whatsoever.

So when it finally clicked in his brain, what exactly he was seeing, Peter couldn't help the bitterness that arose. He flirted with the secretaries, too, he wasn't utterly immune to their charms, and even the Mothers got a look-see every now and then, because why not. 

There were no rumours to be heard concerning Prideaux and Haydon, nothing of the sort, in fact. And yet. Peter observed, and it wasn't their behavior so much as the looks between others that had clued him in, and then he cursed himself for a fool. He should have known - _he should have known!_. Thinking on it, he found it remarkable Haydon had never attempted anything with him. He was good looking, he bought his clothes from Saville Row, his flat was filled with contemporary furniture, mostly. Why hadn't Bill gone for him? The answer had come to him later that evening, at the Indian place where he had first taken Lachlan to dinner. Lachlan had given the waiter his order, handed him the menu and then looked at Peter with the sweetest smile, his face open and trusting and Peter couldn't believe his luck. 

Lachlan MacNeil, of all people.

At first, Peter was glad to have something in common with the two of them outside of work, yet he soon realized it could be a hinderance. Prideaux was discreet, Haydon...not so much. As time passed, however, he began to understand that neither of them knew about him. To them, he was merely Smiley's protege, the man who had made a mess in Africa. And then...then he was grateful.

So it went for two years.

" - Pat Ma'Groin!" said Charlie McCandless, slapping his thigh before bursting into laughter. Freddy Johnston and Mrs. Johnston quickly followed suit, because Freddy was a goddamned sycophant and his wife a mouse of a thing who turned frightened eyes to her husband as often as possible, like a dog waiting to see what its master would do next. Miss Tyler giggled behind her hand, while Mrs. Gilroy sat imperiously and sipped her wine.

Peter joined in, too, even though the joke was at the expense of Irish and poofters everywhere. Half in his cups like everyone else in the room, he drank a bit more punch, which someone had spiked until it was more flavoured rum than a bubbly fruit drink with an afterburn. All in all, he was enjoying himself immensely. Lachlan had finally bowed under pressure and moved in to Peter's flat. 

Not only that, but they weren't even using the spare bedroom as a front. Lachaln's clothes really were in the wardrobe and bureau, his shoes really were in front of the chair, just waiting to be put on.

But he slept in Peter's bed.

Every night for the past week, and forget about Christmas, this was what Peter was really celebrating.

He tossed back the rest of his punch and sniggered to himself. Oh God, yes, this was going to be celebrated every year for the rest of their lives. Now, the real question was, more punch, or outside for a fag? 

Glancing around the room, Peter saw Haydon chat with one of the secretaries, hell if he could remember her name, but she was new and blonde and pretty enough. She and Haydon exchanged not-so-secret smiles, then parted. Haydon caught sight of someone across the room - ah, Prideaux. Of course. Wavered, and then, oh so rudely, smiled slightly and backed away.

The look on Prideaux's face...Peter almost felt sympathetic towards him.

Almost. 

Haydon, he decided, was an arsehole for leading Prideaux on. Obviously Haydon was more concerned with appearances - and wasn't that just a joke! - than with Jim's _feelings_. That's why one should never get involved with people at work, thought Peter, getting to his feet with only a little loss of balance. Never paid off in the end. In fact, look at George and Ann. Everyone knew when Ann left George, feckless creature that she was, and he stuck through the humiliation each and every time. Peter half hoped he was around when George finally got rid of the woman, and half feared the same, for George would be in that cold rage of his, which was…well. Peter would rather still be in Africa.

He floated to the punch bowl to get another cup, sipped a bit, closed his eyes and bobbed along to the _La Mer_. Great song, great song. Fantastic song. He needed to get a record of this song. Maybe Lachlan could pick one upon his way home from the Museum.

"Don't do it."

Peter managed not to startle away from the voice, remembering a second later to whom it belonged. "Jim."

Prideaux was looking across the room when Peter opened his eyes.

"Don't try and be like him, you won't and you can't."

"Wouldn't want to be," Peter answered loudly, because for fuck sakes, Jim, he did have a little pride.

"You don't know what he's been through. Don't judge him."

In the face of Prideaux's earnestness, Peter recoiled. Not physically, of course. Internally he was desperate to tell Prideaux the same thing; have some pride, man, find someone else to love you. 

Which was when Peter realized how tremendously bitter he was over the state of their relationship. Oh, not that they were having one, just the comfort they took being _uncaring_ as to what anyone else thought about it. They were the Golden Bhoys, though, and could do no wrong, especially when people were looking the other way. Although Prideaux did think about it enough to warn Peter off. As if. He wasn't going to say peep to anyone concerning Lachlan inside or outside the Circus. Of course, his immediate friends knew, but that was fine, they all knew him. Prideaux was looking at him now, so he nodded. "Yes, yes of course."

They stood without speaking for a long few minutes, until Peter was quite desperate to get away. He motioned towards Prideaux with his empty glass. "I'd best be off. Need my beauty sleep."

Prideaux nodded back, clapped a heavy and hot hand on Peter's shoulder. "You know where to find me."

"Of course, sure," Peter answered. Thing was, he was no fool. He was as likely to talk to Jim Prideaux about matters personal as a woman was going to voted Prime Minister. Just wasn't going to happen.

Peter said his goodbyes and headed for home. 

For home, and Lachlan.

**Author's Note:**

> I <3 Peter Guillam, both in the original series (available on yt!) as well as the recent (brilliant) movie. It's been lovely to write about him again.


End file.
